All I Want for Christmas
by Tari Seregon
Summary: His eyes did something to her, even stronger on this cold Christmas than on other days. What happens when his eyes make her forget something that could help make him hers? RHr, ONESHOT


**Disclaimer:** Same old, same old . . . the story is mine, everything else belongs to JK Rowling.

**Author's Note:** I don't know if anything remotely like this has been done before - I haven't bothered to read any Christmas stories - but I liked it, and if it has, sorry, I didn't steal your idea. Get over it.

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_**All I Want For Christmas**_

**Hermione sat** in front of the fire in her bedroom at the Burrow on Christmas Eve. The snow fell gently outside, but she wasn't one to go out and join the boys in a snowball fight. The last time she did that, Fred and George took great joy in throwing snow down her shirt. She had been melting all the way back up to the Common Room, and got Moaning Myrtle in trouble for overflowing the bathrooms again. But that was back at Hogwarts, when things had been better

She was staring into the fire, wondering, pondering again. She did this when it got cold and everyone else was outside. She thought about everything – her classes, her friends, the things that were bothering her.

But for the most part, she thought about Ron.

She didn't really know why she thought about Ron in particular. Why not Harry, or Seamus, or Neville? Well, she knew why she didn't think of Neville that way. He was a nice guy and everything, but he wasn't very good-looking, and he was kind of geeky, and he talked too much about plants. And Seamus was sometimes very rash and acted cruelly toward Harry during their fifth year when Harry said that the Dark Lord had returned. As far as why she didn't think about Harry, she didn't know.

But there was something about Ron's fiery red hair to match his personality, his adorable blue eyes (especially beneath the light of the Christmas tree), his freckles that dotted along the slope of his nose. When they were close enough, she would count them all in her head. When he pulled his lips back in that adorable smile, her heart simply melted. And when he was sad and his eyes drooped downward, she couldn't resist him. But she couldn't let him win – he couldn't know what his eyes did to her.

But it wasn't just his person that made her happy. It was the other things about him, as well. She loved the way he was when he was being caring, but didn't want to admit it – like when he would comfort her when she was upset, and then would act like he had done nothing at all. She loved the way he would surround her in his arms when she was frightened or sad and stroke her hair, telling her that no matter what happened, he would still be there for her. She even loved how he'd get angry over stupid things, and then apologize in the end. She loved his happiness, the way his voice sounded when he spoke to her, the way she felt when she was around him. Everything about him was perfect.

The only thing that truly bothered Hermione was how often they fought. She hated fighting with him. She hated not speaking to him. She hated when he'd look at her with that awful look in his eyes, and when she'd have to turn away because she couldn't bear to look at him anymore. Then she'd catch one more glimpse at him and see him busying himself angrily with something. They'd meet eyes again, but he would look away quickly. Eventually, they'd make up, and the flame of hope that had gone out would be restored, only to be extinguished again later by some other stupid fight.

Hermione was pondering on Ron again and what to get him for Christmas when she heard something smash against the window. She jumped, but then went to the window to see what it was. There was a considerable amount more snow on the sill than before. She looked down and saw Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George below her, clad in scarves and hats and mittens and cloaks.

"Come on, Hermione, come outside!" Ginny shouted.

"Yeah, the snow's great!" chanted Fred, packing another snowball into his mittens. Hermione shut the window just in time to miss being hit by another snowball.

She opened it again and called, "I can't trust you two anymore! Remember last year?"

Fred and George began laughing. "Can't forget, dear. But it's been a whole year since last year. Don't you think we've matured in the slightest?" asked George.

"Do you _ever_ mature?" Hermione joked. Despite her fear of being snowballed to death, she was drawing closer and closer to joining her friends outside.

"Please?" begged Ron. She couldn't help it – he was too cute when he begged.

Hermione sighed and said, "Fine, but only for a while." She was even happier when she saw Ron's smile widen as he said, "Hurry up! This white stuff won't be here forever."

She did as Ron had said and hurried – she pulled a sweater over her head, adorned herself in a cloak, scarf (hand-knitted by Mrs. Weasley), mittens, and a hat, and flew out the door.

The second she stepped outside, she was hit square in the face by a snowball from George.

"Perfect shot!" cried Fred, who was right by his side.

"I told you you haven't matured in the past twelve months," she said bitterly, spitting out snow.

"That wasn't fair, she wasn't ready!" Ron exclaimed. "No point for your team!"

"Fine," Ginny sighed. "But this one counts."

She tossed a snowball at Ron, who deflected it off of his hand. He grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled her behind a wall of snow.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Snowball fight. Me, you, and Harry versus Fred, George, and Ginny. No magic. They're a tough opponent, especially since Fred and George have a huge stash of their trick snowballs that when they hit you in the face spurt out this sticky green stuff."

"Doesn't that count as magic, though?"

"Of course not," said Harry, popping out from the other side of the wall. "That's just an everyday item."

Hermione grinned mischievously and said, "Ah, but what they don't know is that I was prepared – I got a bunch of their Exploding Darts from them last time we visited the store, and I haven't used them yet." She pulled a small bag of darts from her pocket.

"Won't they hurt them?" asked Harry quietly, glancing over at Ginny.

"No, don't be thick, I wouldn't try to hurt them. They have the same sticky material in them as in the snowballs – Fred told me in confidence one time. He said that the darts are for the non-winter seasons, since they sold so well around Christmas last year."

Ron beamed. "Hermione, you're a genius!" he cried.

"Thank you," she smiled. "I would have to agree with you there."

The three of them spent the next ten minutes making pre-made snowballs with darts in the middle of them, also making some normal ones. They separated the snowballs into two piles so they could tell which were which. All the while, they had to avoid the snowballs being pelted over the wall by a catapult Ginny had fashioned beforehand.

The six spent a lovely afternoon killing each other with the green muck inside the snowballs, and returned to the warmth of the Burrow hours later, shivering immensely and chatting gaily of the events of the battle.

"We were clearly the winners," said Harry. "What with Hermione's darts, we kicked your butts."

"I can't believe you used our own product against us!" cried Fred.

"And we told you our secrets," scoffed George.

"Although I do believe that you two would have done the same had she been the one with the darts and you with the opportunity," Ginny pointed out.

"Well, one thing's for sure – Hermione saved us from a horrible fate," Ron said. He put on a dramatic face and added, "Two poor, helpless boys, freezing and covered in goo from their heads to their toes, crouching behind a wall of snow. And who should emerge but their best friend, carrying the Exploding Darts! Their hope had been restored!"

Hermione blushed, "Oh, I think you would have been fine without me."

"Nonsense, Hermione, you were our saving grace. Without you, we would have surrendered hours ago, in a worse condition than we are now."

Hermione went to the kitchen and began mixing up some hot chocolate. "Well, I suppose I was a rather important part to the battle plan, wasn't I?"

"But without us, you wouldn't have come in the first place," Harry said.

"Don't take away her glory, Harry. You're just jealous that you didn't think of it first," Ron said in defense.

"Wow, Ron, what's put you in such a good mood?" said Ginny jokingly. When Hermione turned around with the tray of mugs, she saw her raise her eyebrows at Ron, who punched her arm and hissed, "_Shut up!_"

"Thanks," said Harry loudly, obviously trying to cover up whatever it was that had just happened. Ron glared at Ginny, who was giggling, and took a cup of cocoa off the tray. He was followed by Ginny, Fred, and George, and finally Hermione. She sat down next to Ron and magicked a few small marshmallows from the kitchen cupboard into her mug.

"How did you do that without speaking?" Ron asked.

"I figured out how to do silent commands last year with Professor Snape, remember?" Hermione said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I know but I didn't think that anyone had actually gotten it!"

"Well, I did," she said.

Ron shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me, Hermione."

She blushed a deeper shade of red, took in the aroma of her hot chocolate, and drank deeply. Over the edge of the cup, she saw Fred and George look at each other out of the corners of their eyes, smiling broadly.

- - -

Hermione couldn't sleep. She remembered this feeling from when she was younger and had dreamt of the coming of Father Christmas, every year promising herself that she would stay up long enough to hear him, but every year falling asleep before she got the chance. This year, she was awake for a different reason.

She had realized, as she looked at the Christmas tree about a minute and a half before heading up to bed, that she had not yet gotten Ron's gift.

Hermione had been putting it off and putting it off, having no idea what to get him. Nothing seemed to be special enough, but anything grand would be too obvious. She had intended on using the FNGE (Floo Network Gift Exchange, a program new this year where you would send a letter by Floo powder to the place where you intended to buy the gift, and they would Floo the gift back to you through the fire) to buy him something that afternoon, but after the snowball had hit the window and Ron had done his thing with his eyes again, she had forgotten all about gifts. Unfortunately, as she lay there in bed, she realized that the network was closed and had been for the past fifty-nine minutes – it was a minute to midnight.

Hermione got out of bed and went downstairs, not knowing what else to do. Unfortunately, going downstairs killed her spirits even more because she saw the Christmas tree with all the presents beneath and felt a sinking feeling that she was sure Ron would get the next morning when he would see Hermione hadn't gotten him anything. She knew that Christmas wasn't about presents – in fact, it didn't really have anything to do with gifts at all – but if Ron hadn't given _her_ anything, she would be disappointed.

An obnoxious _clang_, repeated eleven more times, made her jump. She turned and saw the clock. It was midnight.

"Merry Christmas," she said dismally.

"And what a Merry Christmas it is," said a voice from the stairs, making her jump a second time. She looked to where the voice came from and saw Ron. Suddenly she wasn't so upset anymore.

"What are you doing down here this late? You went up to bed about an hour ago," he asked.

"I couldn't sleep," Hermione said quickly. That was true. She just didn't tell him why.

"Waiting for Father Christmas?" Ron joked.

Hermione laughed quietly. "Yeah, I suppose so."

Ron sat down in a chair and puffed out his stomach. "Ho, ho, ho!" he said loudly. Hermione giggled like she used to when she visited the fake Father Christmases at the Mall with her parents as a child.

"Come, sit on my lap, little girl," Ron said, patting his knee. It was a rather inviting knee, so Hermione sat upon it.

"Now, tell me, what would you like for Christmas?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. "I just want everything to turn out the way I want it to," she said.

Ron grimaced and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. "Will this do?" he questioned.

Hermione gasped, even though she didn't yet know what was inside. "Oh, Ron!" she crooned. She took the box from his hand and opened it slowly, as if trying to cherish the moment.

Inside was a small, heart-shaped, silver locket on a long chain.

"Open it," he urged.

She opened the locket. Out popped a piece of parchment, on which was written a small note:

_Dear Hermione,_

_I had hoped that this locket would say enough, but then when I thought about it, I wasn't so sure. Couldn't it be a gift given as a friend? Guys buy their female friends jewelry, right? But I wasn't going for the friendship locket thing. I wanted it to mean more than that._

_So that's what this note is for – to tell you why I bought you this locket instead of something like a new book or hair clip or music. I bought it because I want to be more than just friends. I've felt this way for a while, but it's so hard to tell you what I really want to say. Maybe someday I'll get the courage up to say it to your face instead of writing it down, but for now, I hope this will do._

_Love,  
Ron_

Hermione finished reading the note and looked back up at the boy whose fiery red hair matched his personality, whose blue eyes made her melt no matter what he was asking her to do, whose smile made her feel warm, even on the coldest of Christmases. She searched his eyes for signs of emotion. His eyes made her smile.

"I think I have the courage to say it now," Ron said quietly. He took a deep breath and began.

"Hermione, I don't really know what it is about you – maybe it's your soft hair that seems to match your personality, or your eyes that make me melt no matter what you're asking me to do, or maybe your smile that makes me feel warm, even on the coldest of Christmases. But that's probably not it. It's probably the way you make me feel when we're together, the way that you are always so serious about your studying and intent on following the rules and yet we're constantly breaking them together anyway, the way you're so willing to love and be loved. It's like you were made for me – you embody everything I'd want and need in a perfect girlfriend.

"And so while I sit here, with you on my lap, getting lost in the eyes that make me melt, _you're_ why I have the courage to say all of this. You give me courage, Hermione. You give me something to fight for. And . . . I think that's what makes me love you."

Hermione's eyes widened at those last two words. "You love me?"

Ron nodded, confirming what had just come out of his mouth. "Yes, I believe I do. I love you, Hermione Jane Granger."

Hermione put on the locket. She felt it cold against her chest, dangling there like a piece of Ron's own heart.

"You know what, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, smiling.

"What?"

"I just may love you, too."

Ron closed his eyes and sat there for a moment. Hermione was trying to figure out what he was doing when he opened them again. He looked up and smiled.

Above them was a small branch of mistletoe.

"Ron, did you just do that spell mentally?" she gasped.

He grinned. "I've been working on it all night, just for you."

Even if there hadn't been mistletoe above them, she would have kissed him anyway. She didn't have to hold back anymore – she had asked "Father Christmas" for everything to turn out right, and it had. There wasn't any better Christmas present than that.

When they broke apart, he hugged her softly. She whispered into his ear, "But now I feel horrible, because I don't have a gift for you yet. I was looking for the perfect thing, but you told me to come outside and I couldn't say no to you."

Ron smiled again and said, "Hermione, don't you get it? You've already given me the most amazing Christmas gift I could ever ask for. All I really wanted for Christmas was you."

As he kissed her again, Hermione silently thanked the Lord for hearing her prayer. When Hermione had sat on Ron's knee and told him what she wanted for Christmas, he must have heard her.

And that was truly the miracle of Christmas.


End file.
